Good Sister, The Read Online Free PDF Page B

broad brush strokes. She could safely leave the details up to Peter. He had demonstrated time and again that he could digest volumes of information and spot the minutest flaws in the logic. He would sit with a pleased expression as Catherine gushed over every element of the design and justified every event. But before she was finished, he would pin down the need for every meal being planned and the cost of each shrimp on every plate.
    Martin Pegan had made a fine choice in Peter Barnes, and the two sisters had come to appreciate their father’s wisdom. They were both headstrong, confident, and accomplished, but neither harbored any illusion as to who was responsible for the success of the business. In the final analysis, it was Peter who had made the decisions. Not that he had been arbitrary. As they both came to recognize, he managed by guiding them to the right decisions.
    But if they knew his business style, they were generally in the dark as to his personal life, a mystery that he seemed to enjoy leaving unsolved. They knew, for example, that he had been a high-tech nerd, one of the educational dropouts who invented light-wave devices in his garage. But there was none of the sneakered iconoclast about him. He wore well-tailored business suits with tasteful ties, more in the style of a banker than an inventor.
    They knew he was a technical genius with a clear understanding of the physics of satellite orbits and the electronics of digital
communications. Yet he spoke in simple declarative sentences with hardly a trace of the technobabble that passed as conversation in their industry.
    Although he was single, he always appeared at business affairs and at Catherine’s social events with an attractive woman on his arm. He was never secretive about who the lady was, or her background and accomplishments. But he didn’t give a clue as to whether the relationship was serious or casual. What they noticed was that few of his women lasted through a season. None had ever stayed around for a year.
    It was obvious that he was wealthy. They both knew his salary, his bonuses, and the value of his stock. Yet he lived modestly in what had once been a caretaker’s cottage and summered aboard a boat tied up at a North Shore marina. He was certainly successful but had never appeared in a business publication, never given an interview on cable, never spoken at an industry event.
    They knew he was good-looking, even if his nose was a bit too long and he had developed a habitual squint through his heavy glasses. They knew he was athletic, with a fine tennis game, a low golf handicap, and a successful record in yacht racing. They knew he was passionate about an Italian sports car that seemed perpetually in the shop, and that he was addicted to books on European history. They knew he liked good bourbon and defied convention by drinking it over a single ice cube.
    But they had no idea where he’d been born and raised, who his parents were, or whether he had any brothers or sisters. They didn’t know where he had gone to school or for how long. Was he always single, or had he divorced? Was he religious or agnostic? Gay or straight? Generous or thrifty? Did he bathe or shower? Wear boxers or briefs? Despite the fact that they were with him every day in an intimate business relationship, their private lives never mingled. Peter offered no insights into his, and they had never caught him peeking into theirs.
    They had often speculated. Once they had hired an investigator
to look through yearbooks and other matters of public record. Just the essentials, they told each other. Things they really were entitled to know. But they had called the investigator off before he could get started. If they were entitled to know, they should simply ask Peter, they had reasoned. They knew how much they depended on him and couldn’t risk driving him away.
    Privately, both had wondered from time to time whether Peter might have any romantic interest in them.